She could hear rustling and heavy breathing, followed by a yell. A fight, maybe. Everyone remained still. She wrapped her fingers around her sword.
A flash of blue streaked across her vision and disappeared from view. She stepped to the side, craning her neck to see around the trees.
Her heart stopped.
It was Cas, on his knees with a blade to his throat. A man with a sword set his mouth in a determined line, preparing to slice Cas’s neck.
She was moving before she realized she was going to him, ignoring the shouts from behind her.
Cas was out of sight suddenly, and for a terrible moment she thought the man had succeeded in killing him. But he rolled away from the blade and jumped up, moving faster than she’d ever seen. And she’d thought he was giving it his all when they sparred.
She leaped over a vine, her fingers sweaty around the hilt of her sword. Cas slammed his body against the man, knocking them both to the ground.
Cas scrambled to his feet. He had the sword. She skidded to a stop a few paces from him just in time to see him plunge the sword into the man’s chest.
He whirled around, bloody sword still poised in front of him. Their eyes met.
He was dirty and his pants were smeared with something dark—probably blood. He wore a blue staff shirt that was only half buttoned and covered in grime. Deep, dark circles marred the flesh under his eyes. He’d aged three years instead of three days.
His face twisted, and she caught a full glimpse of just how much he hated her. He hated her with everything he had, hated her with more intensity than he’d ever felt about anything.
He lunged at her, and she barely raised her sword in time to block his attack. The sound of their blades crashing together echoed through the forest, and her heart began to beat so fast she felt sick.
“Cas—” She gulped back the words as he dove at her again. He nicked her neck with the blade and she scurried back, away from him.
He followed, shoving his sword dangerously close to her chest. She blocked it and lifted her sword against the next attack.
He slammed his foot into her knee. Her legs buckled and she hit the ground, keeping a tight grip on her sword. She started to scramble to her feet.
Cas had his blade aimed at her neck.
She sucked in a breath. He was gasping for air, his expression twisted and furious. He wasn’t just angry; he was going to kill her.
She considered saying she was sorry, but she wasn’t sure she wanted those to be the last words she ever said.
The blade in front of her face shook a tiny bit, and she looked from it to Cas. He pressed his lips together, the saddest defeated expression crossing his face.
He started to lower the blade.
Every part of her body crumpled in relief. She opened her mouth, desperately trying to think of what to say that wouldn’t make him change his mind and kill her immediately.
“I—”
Her words ended in a gasp as an arrow whizzed past her face. Cas stumbled backward as it sank into his flesh.
TWENTY-NINE
CAS FELL TO the ground, the arrow sticking out of his left shoulder. Em frantically scrambled across the dirt to him.
“You missed,” Iria said from behind her.
“Tell her to move out of the way, and I’ll make sure the next one’s in his heart,” Miguel said.
Em yanked the arrow out before Cas could protest. He pressed his lips together to muffle his scream. He looked like he wished he’d killed her.
“Move, Emelina,” Miguel said.
Her eyes met Cas’s. His father deserved to die. Lera deserved to be burned to the ground. But Cas didn’t deserve any of this.
“No,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt. Boots stopped next to her, and Aren frowned down at her.
“If you’re going to kill him yourself, do you mind being quick about it?” Miguel asked. “I know your mother was fond of extended torture, but we don’t really have time—”
“No one is killing him,” she said. Some of Cas’s anger melted into confusion.
“Em . . .” Iria’s voice trailed off, and she glanced at Miguel.
“We have to,” Miguel said. “King Lucio ordered the royal family killed.”
“I do not take orders from King Lucio, and I say that he lives.” Em looked at Aren. “Will you help me move him to the river? That arrow was probably filthy. We should boil some water and clean the wound.”
“We should what?” Miguel let out a disbelieving laugh.
“No one needs to help me,” Cas spat, sitting up with his hand braced against his bloody shoulder. “I can walk.”
“Oh good,” Miguel said. “He can walk. Let’s catch him some fish and make him a lovely meal while we’re at it, why don’t we?”
Cas eyed his sword, just beyond his reach, and Aren quickly scooped it off the ground. He knelt down next to Em, lowering his voice so Cas wouldn’t overhear. “He tried to kill you, Em.”
“He wasn’t going to do it. He was lowering his sword.”
“It looked like he was going to kill you from where I stood.”